Kids’ Funniest Reactions to My Being in a Wheelchair

Kids are the most unintentionally hilarious creatures on Earth.

An evolutionary oddity of our species is that we gain the ability to speak long before our social filters and impulse controls form. Along these lines, disability is a difficult concept to explain to a child. Many kids see me in my wheelchair and think, “Hey, that’s different!” They also feel compelled to share the first thought that comes to mind, often to the horror of their parents.

I, on the other hand, find their blunt and brutally honest curiosity and the conclusions to which they leap hilarious and endlessly entertaining.

I hope you enjoy these as much as I do!

One evening, I was coming out of a restaurant after having dinner with my extended family. As I was rolling toward my car, a small family with two young children was walking toward me. The oldest, who looked to be maybe five or six-years-old, stopped and looked me up and down.

Already it was funny watching his mental gears turn as he worked to discern why I required the wheelchair.

A moment later, he looked up at me and asked, “Did you break your legs?”

A reasonable assumption.

His parents immediately shushed him, telling him it was rude to ask questions.

Side note: it’s perfectly ok to ask questions as long as they’re asked respectfully. Most people lack experience with disability, and I’m happy to remove some of the mystery if they’re coming from a place of genuine curiosity…and aren’t dicks about it.

“It’s ok,” I assured the parents. I looked at the little boy, and I don’t know what came over me, but I pointed at me wheelchair and said, “This is what happens when you don’t eat your vegetables.”

The little boy, overcome by panic, shouted, “But I don’t like vegetables!”

The parents both shot me questioning and mildly disapproving looks as they quickly ushered him inside.

One of the good things about being in a wheelchair is no one asks me to help them move anymore.

I used to be a big, strong guy with a pickup truck. If I had a dollar for every time I helped someone move, it would be enough for this month’s student loan payment.

That being said, I was asked by some friends to keep an eye on their two kids after they had just moved. And by that, I mean, they wanted me and my chair to block up the doorway between the den and kitchen so they could unpack and arrange furniture without little ones being under foot.

At one point, their oldest, who was almost five-years-old, took my keys which were hanging off one of my brake handles.

After giving them a quick inspection, she took my car key (the longest one on the key ring) and tried inserting it into the side of my seat cushion while saying, “Vroom vroom!”

She kept saying it louder and with increasing impatience, drawing the attention of her mom who was nearby. When my wheelchair failed to start like an automobile, she looked up at her mom and said, “Mommy, his car is broken.”

Her mom and I doubled over laughing.

Every now and then, I’ll grow a full beard. Usually during the winter months, or if I’m feeling particularly lazy.

One December, as Christmas was fast approaching, I was working at a God-awful corporately owned pet supply store. In the spirit of the season, I was wearing a Santa hat.

Oh, and I’m a fat guy.

You might see where this is going…

As I was restocking a section of holiday-themed dog toys, I could see a little boy with his dad just staring at me. I didn’t think much of it, because, even in our modern society, people in wheelchairs are still seen by many as human oddities.

As I’m rolling along with a shipping container of toys on my lap, all fat and bearded, the little boy tugs at his dad’s hand, points at me, and says loud enough for most of the people in the store to hear, “Daddy, what happened to Santa?”

The dad, confused, looks around until he finds me. He went red with embarrassment and quickly directed his son toward the registers at the front of the store.

I nearly wet my pants laughing.

I use a manual wheelchair to get around. I’m grateful I don’t need a big, motorized chair, as they’re expensive, require more maintenance, and if I forgot to plug it in at night and recharge it, I’d be stuck if the battery died.

And, as I mentioned, I’m a big dude. It would take a few people to move me if it came to that.

Even so, being a larger than average person, I require a larger than average manual chair.

One afternoon, I was waiting in line at the grocery store. As I’m waiting, I could hear a little boy behind me asking his mom questions about my chair. She’s urging him to be quiet 1) because she didn’t have the answers to his questions, and 2) she didn’t want me to hear and get offended.

As we’re waiting, I hear my phone start ringing in the backpack that hangs off the back of my chair. At the time, I had a crappy replacement phone (think a late 90’s Nokia…but this happened in 2013), my iPhone having been stolen a few months prior.

The ring tone was a basic beeping pattern, as I found most of the preprogramed ringtones irritating.

As my phone is ringing, the little boy behind me yells out, “Watch out, it’s backing up!”

No, that’s not a typo. He said “it.”

Like so many parents, the mother was mortified.

And being absolutely no help, I was laughing my ass off.

Older kids aren’t immune to sticking their feet in their mouths when it comes to interacting with disabled people. It doesn’t happen as often, but when it does, it’s just as hilarious as when little kids do it.

Shortly after I got my halo vest off, I began going places with friends, hitching rides in their cars. Didn’t matter where were going. I just needed to get out of the house for a while.

One late Saturday morning, I was sitting in the front passenger seat of a friend’s car while he ran into a convenience store to grab some snacks and sodas. We were on our way to his house to play the new Star Wars: Battlefront game for Xbox and needed sufficient snackage. After all, taking on the Galactic Empire on an empty stomach is simply poor planning.

As I waited in the car, these two teenage girls sitting on the sidewalk outside of the convenience store started yelling at me.

“Hey! Yeah, you. Could you buy us some beer?”

They looked like they were fifteen at the oldest.

“No, I can’t do that,” I said.

“Aw, come on! We’ll give you one.”

I shook my head and chuckled to myself. “Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I can’t,” I replied. “I can’t walk, and my wheelchair is in the trunk.”

They looked at me with a level of contempt only teenage girls and prosecuting attorneys can muster. “That’s a fucked up thing to lie about,” one of them said.

“I’m not lying. I broke my neck last summer in a diving accident, and I’ve needed a chair ever since.”

They looked at each other with growing uncertainty.

Just then, my friend came out of the store carrying drinks and snacks.

“Hey, pop the trunk real quick and show those girls my wheelchair,” I said.

He looked at me like I had tentacles growing out of the side of my face. “Why?”

“Just do it. I promise it’ll be funny.”

He shrugged, popped the trunk, and pulled my chair out.

And the looks of horror on their faces…priceless!

“Oh my God, he wasn’t lying!” one of the girls said, standing up and pointing.

“We’re really, really sorry,” the other said.

After he’d put my chair back and we were on our way to his house, my friend asked me, “What was that all about?”

I recounted the brief conversation I’d had with the girls.

We both laughed our damn fool heads off.

This may be my all-time favorite kid reaction, as I can’t help but laugh a little every time I think about it.

Shortly after I was home from the hospital, I went to my aunt’s church’s parish festival. I’d been cooped up indoors for about a month, and I was desperate to be anywhere besides home.

Only, I was still in a halo vest. If you’re unfamiliar with what that is, a halo vest is a plastic shell that encircles most of your chest and stomach. Attached to it are two vertical rods that go up past your ears. A metal ring is attached to the rods…and bolted to your skull.

Yes, bolted.

My halo was held in place by four surgical screws bolted directly into my head. The result is, your entire spinal column from your head to your lower back is completely immobilized.

It’s a device used to aid in healing, but it looks like a medieval torture device or something out of Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory.

And there I was, wearing this contraption out in public.

I could see people desperately trying to seem like they weren’t staring at me (and failing) as I rolled by. I’d been there for maybe an hour or two when it finally happened.

This boy, who looked like he was maybe six-years-old, saw me rolling in his general direction. Time seemed to slow down as his eyes went wide and he pointed at me. And as loud as he could, in front of God and everyone, exclaimed, “Mommy, look at that guy!”

His mortified mother rushed over, shoved his arm down, and gently, but firmly, told him to shut up. Beet red, she turned to me and apologized for her son’s insensitive behavior.

Unfortunately for her, I was less than helpful. I was crying laughing.

And let’s be real, everyone was thinking what he alone was willing to say out loud.

Some people have been horrified when I’ve told these stories. Others have been curious as to why I wasn’t offended or angry when these events took place.

Here’s the thing.

None of these kids meant to be insensitive. They were still learning about the world and what sorts of behaviors are acceptable and what aren’t.

Had I gotten upset, it would have done more harm than good, inasmuch as I could have instilled in them a life-long negative view of people with disabilities.

I’d never want to do that.

That, and I don’t take myself of my disability too seriously. I would much rather laugh than cry about it.

And Lord love ’em, these kids really made me laugh.

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